


Murder on the East Coast Express

by the_technicolor_whiscash



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Murder Mystery, Romance, Spooning, Trains, based on murder on the orient express, solving a murder on a train
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19216981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_technicolor_whiscash/pseuds/the_technicolor_whiscash
Summary: The East Coast Express is a prominent old-fashioned steam train that rides up and down the east coast of America. They've never had a problem before. But when Aziraphale and Crowley decide to take a vacation on the train, things go south fast. A murder occurs, and it's up to the two of them to solve it. But the real question is, is there some higher power behind this?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok I have never read murder on the orient express nor any agatha christie and my only exposure to it is from the doctor who episode mummy on the orient express so do not expect it to be true to that. also, I know nothing about trains. really should've chosen an easier subject to write about, but I like to make myself suffer.

_Hey porter! Hey porter!_   
_Would you tell me the time?_   
_How much longer will it be till we cross_   
_That Mason Dixon Line?_

Johnny Cash played quietly in the background as Aziraphale entered the dining car. It was quite late, so the only patrons inside were those visiting the bar, or those who couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t that Aziraphale couldn’t sleep. He simply didn’t need it. 

Sitting at the bar, he ordered a glass of wine and looked out the dark windows. Every so often, streetlights could be seen in the distance, a flash in the darkness. Sometimes, those flashes illuminated animals. 

Aziraphale sipped his wine. Behind the sound of Johnny Cash was the chug of the train, an old-fashioned steam engine. He had always enjoyed riding trains at night. The whole world seemed to be asleep, except for those few souls in the dining car. 

“Can’t sleep?” Asked one of the passengers at the bar. 

“I never really do. What about you?”

“Can’t sleep on trains.”

Smiling slightly, Aziraphale performed a small miracle so that the man would be able to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. “I should think this time’s going to be different.”

“I hope so.” The man said. He paid the bartender and left. 

“So you’re British, huh.” The bartender said to Aziraphale. 

“Technically.”

“Decided to take an American vacation, then?”

That wasn’t the reason why Aziraphale had decided to take this train ride. The thing was, he had received… less of a message, more of a feeling telling him to go to America and take the East Coast Express. It would be a long ride, spanning several days as the train rattled down the entire eastern seaboard. But it wasn’t just some random thought. Something or someone had told him to go. But he wasn’t about to tell the bartender that. “I’m quite a big fan of trains, you see, so I wanted to experience a true American train ride.” He didn’t actually care much for trains. “Are there any landmarks I should look for on the way down?”

“Well, we’ve already passed through New York City, and most of Jersey. D.C. is coming up, and I know we’ll be making a stop there. Might wanna check that out if you’ve never been. The Smithsonian is good, if you like museums.”

Aziraphale had known the man the Smithsonian institution was named after. “That does sound fascinating. I’ll be sure to visit them when we’re there.”

“We’ll probably be there by tomorrow. After that, it’s a long way before we hit anything too interesting. In fact, I don’t think we stop again for another few days.”

“Ah. I’ll keep that in mind.” Aziraphale paid the bartender. “Thanks for the conversation.” 

“Thanks for keeping me entertained. Night shift is always boring as hell.” Hell was the opposite of boring. Aziraphale knew firsthand. 

Heading back through the seating car, he made his way to the little sleeping quarter he had. If nothing else, he could spend the rest of the night reading, and in several hours, they’d be in D.C. Miracling up a cup of cocoa, he settled down with a book. 

—————

Standing in the conservatory of the U.S. Botanical Gardens, Aziraphale admired their collection of rare and endangered plants. Aziraphale had always liked gardens, even from the beginning. And the botanical gardens did have a wonderful collection of plants. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale got the feeling that someone was watching him. 

“Hello, Crowley.” Aziraphale said.

“Angel.” Crowley approached, standing beside Aziraphale. “Didn’t expect to find you in America.”

“I’m taking a train ride down the east coast. Seeing the sights.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What train?”

“The East Coast Express.” 

“That’s funny. I’m on that train too.” 

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Oh, excellent! We can ride together, then. I do so hate traveling alone.” He paused. “But why are you here?”

“Dunno. Something told me I should be. And something else told me I’d find you here.” 

“Some kind of ineffable force seems to have brought us together.”

Though he couldn’t see Crowley’s eyes, he had a feeling he was rolling them. “Wonder what it could be. The almighty playing their almighty game with us?”

“I don’t know if the almighty cares enough about us to do that. More important things to deal with. You know.” 

“Unfortunately, I do.” 

“I guess we’re stuck with each other, then.” 

The hint of a smile crossed Crowley’s face. “I guess we are.”

“Good, that means I can talk to you about plants. They have some fantastic examples here, some I haven’t even seen before.” 

Crowley chuckled. “Go right ahead, angel.” 

—————

“Now, the corpse flower, or _Amorphophallus titanum_ , doesn’t bloom every year, as it needs to build up the necessary energy to produce such a massive flower.” 

Aziraphale and Crowley stepped back onto the train, making their way towards the seating car. They sat opposite each other, a small table between them. The sun was setting, painting the surrounding wilderness in gold and pink. 

“And, when it does bloom, it stinks like rotting flesh, which is why they call it a corpse flower.”

“Makes sense.” Crowley wasn’t really focused on what Aziraphale was saying. In fact, he seemed to be more focused on gazing fondly at Aziraphale’s face. If asked, he would deny any and all fond gazing, both then and throughout the rest of history. 

“For the botanical gardens to have three blooming at the same time was unprecedented. I actually had the chance to witness one blooming once. It smelled disgusting. But the scent is supposed to attract pollinators.”

“Seems to work well enough for them.” 

“Quite so.” 

Two cups of tea had appeared on the table. Crowley wasn’t quite sure which one of them had conjured them up. 

“So.” Crowley said, sipping his tea. “What do you think’s going to happen? Because typically, when the two of us are together, something ends up happening.”

“Not every time. Perhaps we’ll be lucky.”

“Last time we were together, we got trapped in an elevator for three hours. The time before that, a traffic jam. Before that, a thunderstorm left us stuck at that little cafe in Soho. I’m starting to notice a pattern here.”

Aziraphale smirked. “You might have a point. We seem to be rather unlucky.”

“I’ve started keeping track of it, and from what I can tell, it’s only started happening after the apocalypse-that-didn’t-happen. Which means, chances are, something’s going to happen to this train.”

The train began chugging along, and soon Washington, D.C. was far behind them. The sun had set, and the lights within the train had dimmed. 

Aziraphale checked his watch. “Most everyone on the train will be asleep by now.” 

“Heading off to bed?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Doesn’t seem to be much for us to do yet. Figure I’ll read until the morning. What about you?”

“Got no reason to stay if you’re not here.” 

Aziraphale looked out the window, clearly attempting to hide the blush spreading across his face. “I’m sure you can find something to do without me. Causing a raucous.”

“I could, but it’s not as much fun without someone to thwart me.” 

Aziraphale smiled as he stood. “Goodnight, dear. I’ll make sure to thwart you in the morning.” 

“Night, angel.” 

Crowley watched Aziraphale leave, before audibly sighing. He miracled away the cups of tea, before making his way down the train. He didn’t stop until he reached the caboose. There was a small balcony on the back, and as soon as Crowley stepped out, the wind whipped at his hair, and he needed to take his sunglasses off to avoid losing them. It didn’t matter, anyhow. Nobody was out there. 

Crowley had always liked steam engines. He had even gotten a commendation, because his bosses were impressed with how much pollution the coal burning produced. Even though he had nothing to do with it. But he had always enjoyed riding them. The slow chug of the engine helped to clear his mind. 

He had had a feeling Aziraphale would be on the train. They just seemed to keep running into each other, even outside of the days they planned. They met each other for lunch almost every day now, and went out for walks at least that often. But they just kept stumbling together. One way or another, they got into more and more situations in which they saw each other. 

It couldn’t have been random. Could it? It didn’t make sense for it to just keep happening without something or someone in the background causing it. But Aziraphale had had a point, in that the almighty probably had better things to do than playing celestial matchmaker. 

And that was another thing. The motivation behind it. What on earth could it have been?

Regardless of who was pulling the strings and why, Crowley never turned down a chance to see Aziraphale. To hear Aziraphale talk about the latest events in his life, or what’s interesting him at that moment. It was nice. And they were friends. 

Though ‘friends’ didn’t seem to be an accurate descriptor at this point. Because they did see each other so often. And sometimes, they would stay at each other’s places. And… every time Crowley had to leave, he regretted it more and more. 

Leaning on the railing, Crowley ran a hand through the back of his hair. He heard the sound of the door to the balcony opening and closing, followed by the sound of a cigarette lighter. Damn. He wanted to keep moping alone. 

Putting his glasses back on, he slipped back inside. He needed a drink. Badly. And there was a conveniently open seat at the bar in the dining car. He asked for a glass of wine, which miraculously became something much older, fancier, and more expensive. 

_I fell into a burning ring of fire_   
_I went down, down, down_   
_And the flames went higher_   
_And it burns, burns, burns_

Johnny Cash crooned quite appropriately in the background as Crowley got progressively drunker. 

“You look miserable.” The bartender said, as he cleaned out a glass. “Relationship trouble?”

“It would be, if it were a relationship to begin with.” Crowley refilled his glass with a wave of his hand. “I’m pretty sure we love each other, but neither of us wants to take the first step, and six thousand years later I’m still pining for him.” 

“Man, I know the feel. Took me years to confess how I felt to the gal I liked.”

“I just don’t wanna mess things up, you know? He’s my best friend. If things went downhill… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“That’s how it always feels. If you want my advice? It never hurts to try. Even if he turns you down, you can probably still be friends.” 

“You’re probably right.” Crowley stood, leaving a fair tip at the bar. “Thanks for the advice, mate.” 

Heading towards the sleeping car, Crowley looked through the window. The night was getting cold, and a hint of frost was beginning to show. 

And that was when he heard the screams. 

It was a woman screaming, that was to be sure, and it seemed to be coming from a few cars down. Instantly sobering up, Crowley ran in the direction of the sound. 

It was in a mostly-empty seating car. The only people there were a young woman on her knees (probably the source of the scream), and a man in one of the chairs. He looked older, maybe late 60’s. And he had a bullet hole in his chest. 

“Jesus Christ.” Crowley muttered. He felt a person appear at his side. It was Aziraphale. 

The angel approached the girl, putting a hand on her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Debbie.” She said through her tears. “That’s… that’s my grandfather.” She waved towards the body. “How? How could this happen?” 

“Debbie, why don’t we move into the next car?” Aziraphale put an arm around Debbie and led her to the next car. Crowley followed closely behind. The next car was the dining car. 

Debbie sat down in one of the booths. “Oh, my god. What’s going to happen?”

“We’re going to take this one step at a time. I’m Mr. Fell.” Aziraphale sat down across from Debbie. “This is my… partner, Anthony Crowley. Crowley, dear, if you wouldn’t mind telling the bartender over there what’s happened.”

“Of course.” Crowley approached the bar once again. “Hey, so, you’re not going to believe this, but a man has been murdered in the next car over.”

“Murdered?” The bartender said in surprise. “Man, you’ve been drinking more than I thought.”

“I’m dead serious. It looks like he’s been shot through the chest. If there’s someone you can tell, someone who can lock down the train, I’d recommend doing that right now.”

Crowley headed back to the booth, sitting beside Aziraphale. He tried to ignore the fact that it was just a little too small for two people. 

“So, Debbie. Tell me. What’s your grandfather’s name?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Charles Svornak. He… he sold auto parts.” Debbie dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “This was supposed to be a family vacation. A nice little getaway. I didn’t… oh god, what am I gonna do?”

The bartender approached their booth. “Listen, I told the porter what’s going on. He said that as soon as we get into the next station, the police are coming onboard. But that’s not gonna be until tomorrow. I know we’ve got a doctor onboard, so they’ll probably talk to them.” 

Suddenly, the train jolted to a stop. 

“Was that supposed to happen?” Crowley asked. 

“Not that I know of. Give me a minute.” The bartender went back to talk on the phone behind the bar. His expression fell, and he didn’t return with good news. “There was a freak snowstorm. The train can’t pass through it. It looks like we’re stuck here for a while.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Listen, I gotta get back to the bar. But the authorities should be able to take care of this.” 

“Why do I doubt that?” Crowley muttered as the bartender walked away. 

“So, what’s going to happen?” Debbie asked. 

“I think you should go to bed, and we can figure things out in the morning.”

Debbie nodded, dabbing her eyes again. She left without saying another word. 

“You were right. Something did happen. Though I didn’t quite expect it to be something so severe.”

“Neither did I. First the murder, and now the train is stuck.”

“What do you think it all means?”

“I think,” Crowley paused for dramatic effect, “it means we’re going to have to solve that murder.”

“I’ve never solved a murder in my life.”

“Neither have I. Committed one, arguably, but never solved them.”

“I have read a lot of Agatha Christie, so perhaps I can take what I learned from her and use it to my advantage.” Aziraphale pulled out a small book from inside his jacket. “And luckily, I did bring along Poirot.”

“I don’t know how much that’ll help us in a real life murder that doesn’t take place 80 years ago. But it’s better than nothing.”

“Right. So, first thing we have to do is find suspects.”

“Well, one must be the girl.”

“Oh, I don’t think she did it. She seemed so distraught!”

“People can lie, angel.” Crowley miracled a pen and a pad of paper, and began scribbling down notes. “So. First suspect. Debbie Svornak. Granddaughter of the murdered guy. What else do we know?”

“He ran an auto parts store. And they were on a family vacation.” Aziraphale thought for a moment. “You know, there’s a trick I can do. It doesn’t last long, only a minute or two, but I can bring a recently deceased human back from the dead. He might be able to tell us who killed him.”

Crowley frowned. “Angel, why didn’t you mention that before? I wouldn’t have miracled up the paper if I had known you could play necromancer.” 

“Not necromancer. Just putting a bit of life back in for a moment. Though I can see how it would seem like necromancy.”

Crowley stood. “I guess we’re detectives, then.”

“I guess we are. Detectives A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley.” Aziraphale smiled. “It’s all quite exciting.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing a murder mystery is hard. like, what do you mean I'm supposed to know who the murderer is and how he did it? you mean I'm supposed to plan this out like a normal and good author? but I'm allergic to planning!

Charles Svornak burst back to life in a flash of light and a gasp of air. He seemed rather put-out about the whole thing. 

“Where am I? Who are you people?” He asked, turning his head but unable to move his body. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Svornak.” Aziraphale said. “My name is Aziraphale, and this is Crowley. I’m an angel, and I’ve brought you back from the dead so that you might answer a few of our questions.”

“An angel? I thought you all lived in heaven.”

“I don’t. I never really liked it up there. The food wasn’t to my taste, and it all felt a bit clinical. Like a hospital.” 

Crowley elbowed him gently in the side. “Angel, focus.”

“Right. We don’t have much time. I’ve only brought you back temporarily, and I can’t do it again. So, tell me, did you see who murdered you?”

“No.” Charles shook his head. “I was asleep. Why can’t I move my body?”

“Well, I can’t bring the whole body back without a fair amount of effort, so usually I just do the head.”

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill you?” Crowley interjected. 

“Lots of people. I had a fair amount of money. Uh, my wallet’s in my front right pocket.” 

Crowley reaches in and pulled out the man’s wallet. It contained around $3000 in hundreds, and numerous debit cards. “Blimey, what the heaven did you do?”

“I was an auto parts manufacturer and distributor. A damn good one at that. I’ve made millions. Problem is, I had a lot of terrible children and grandchildren.”

“Like Debbie?”

“Debbie’s the only nice one out of them. She’s the only one who cares about me, not just the fact I’m old and rich. I’m her grandfather, and that’s what matters. Which is why I’m leaving it all to her in my will.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “All of it?”

“Every cent.”

“Did she know this?”

“Oh, no. My will was locked down tight years ago. The only people who know are myself and my lawyer.” Charles’s head fell back against the seat. “I can’t move my head now.”

“The miracle is wearing off. Listen, before you go, is there anyone who might’ve hired someone to kill you? Any old enemies, or something?”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know. I wish I could be of more help in solving my own murder.”

“It’s no problem. I hope you rest well on the other side.” 

And with that, Charles was gone. 

“That was…” Crowley began.

“Helpful?”

“Bizarre. How long have you been able to do that?”

“Oh, forever. Though I don’t do it often. People tend to think it’s a bit gruesome.”

“Can only wonder why. But we should probably get out of here before someone catches us.” They slipped back into the dining car. “So, what do we do now?”

“Go back to bed, I suppose. Wait until morning.”

“I don’t know if I can go back to bed after this.”

“Come back to my room, then. We can keep each other company.”

It was Crowley’s turn to blush. But he wasn’t about to turn Aziraphale down. “Fine. And we can talk about the… well, I suppose it is a case. And since we’re acting detectives, we should use the lingo.”

The room Aziraphale had was small. It had a bed, a small chair in the corner, and a dresser. Like the rest of the train, it was done in a dark wood, and felt very old-fashioned. Aziraphale flopped down onto the bed, and Crowley stood awkwardly for a moment before taking the chair. He pulled out the notebook, and added what they had learned. 

“So.” He said. “Debbie’s the heir to the Svornak auto parts throne. And she doesn’t know it yet. So she has all these other relatives who really want rich granddad Chuck’s money.”

“And they don’t know they’re not getting any of it.” Aziraphale rolled to the far side of the bed. “There’s plenty of room here, if that chair is as uncomfortable as I expected it to be.”

“It’s fine. Ah, easier to write while sitting up.” Crowley cleared his throat. “And he’s got a bunch of enemies. So any number of them could’ve done it, or they could’ve hired someone to do it.” Crowley took his sunglasses off. “We could have a hitman on our hands.”

“A hitman! How exciting. And plausible.” Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs. “I wonder if the train has any security cameras we could use.”

“Possibly. Though it’s old, so I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask someone in the morning. Right. So, what do we need to find out?”

“Who the killer is.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, that’s a given. I mean, what else do we need to find out who the killer is.”

Aziraphale gave him a side-eyed look. “I know. I was making a joke. So, we’re going to need to look into the victim’s family. See who’s most likely to want to kill him.”

“And we should see who might’ve known about the will. He said it was private, but people find ways.” 

“And we need to find out who has a gun on the train.”

“Right. Who brings a gun on a train? Why?” 

“Americans.”

Crowley nodded somberly. “I think we’ve got some good stuff down so far.” He stood. “Well, I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.” 

“You don’t have to go, you know. There’s more than enough room if you’d like to stay.” 

“Are you sure?” There was so much weight to the question. Admittedly, they had shared beds before, but never while sober. 

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale patted the empty space of the bed. 

—————

Aziraphale knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t ignorant. He knew that casual friends didn’t typically share beds, unless there was something deeper between them. 

And, unless he had been reading the mood wrong for decades, there most definitely was. 

Naturally, Aziraphale hadn’t brought it up. The whole angels and demons thing sort of threw a rock into the idea of a relationship. They weren’t even supposed to see each other, let alone… fraternize. But Aziraphale had been unequivocally, most assuredly, absolutely and definitely in love with Crowley at least since the 1940’s. Possibly before then, but he hadn’t thought about it much. 

Now that the apocalypse was over, and the lines between sides were blurred beyond comprehension, it opened up opportunities for becoming something rather more than friends. The problem was, he didn’t know how to approach the subject. Aziraphale couldn’t very well say “hey, I’ve been in love with you for decades, and we should bone right now.” Even though it might’ve been what he was thinking. Quite frequently. 

He decided his best option would be attempting to be less than subtle. 

“Suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Crowley said finally. He laid down beside Aziraphale, just far enough away that they weren’t touching. 

However, it was a small bed, and Aziraphale was determined. Moving his hand just slightly, his pinky ghosted against the back of Crowley’s palm. He could hear a quiet yet sharp inhale from Crowley. 

“So,” Crowley cleared his throat, “it’s probably one of the family members then. Who wanted to kill the- whatever his name is.” 

“You’re probably right. But let’s put off speculation until the morning.” 

Crowley rolled onto his side, facing away from Aziraphale. “Good night, angel.”

“Good night, my dear.” 

That might very well have been the end of it, had Aziraphale not put an arm around Crowley’s waist. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley muttered. “What are you doing?”

“I think the humans call it ‘spooning,’ if I’m not mistaken. I can stop, if you don’t like it.”

“No, no. I’m just not used to it.” Crowley put a hand over Aziraphale’s. “I do like it. It’s… nice.”

“I’m glad.” Said Aziraphale. 

“You know, typically during spooning, there’s no space between the people doing it.” 

Aziraphale smiled. He moved so that he was flush against Crowley’s back, and nestled his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck. “Is that better?”

“It is.”

“Good. I should hate to inconvenience.” 

—————

The train was still stalled when Aziraphale woke up. Glancing out the window, there was a coating of snow outside. But that shouldn’t have stopped the train. So what had?

“Mmph.” Crowley muttered. “The heat’s turned off.” 

“There’s not much snow outside. I wonder what could’ve gotten the train to stop.”

Crowley pulled the covers up over his head. Which, subsequently, pulled them over Aziraphale’s head as well. 

“My dear, as much as I’m enjoying this, we should probably be getting up.”

“Why ruin the moment?” 

Aziraphale sighed, returning to the crook of Crowley’s neck. “We do have a murder to solve.”

“It’s not like he’s going to come back to life and demand we solve his murder. I can sleep in for another five minutes.”

“You can, but I won’t like it.”

“Now, we can’t have that.” Crowley turned over so that he was facing Aziraphale. “Care to explain what happened last night?”

“The spooning?”

“No, the chipmunks doing exotic dances. Yes, the spooning!”

“Well, you were there. And it was getting a bit nippy. And I figured you probably wouldn’t turn it down.” Aziraphale realized that probably didn’t sound good. “Um, you’re an excellent little spoon.”

“So you only did it because I was there. You would’ve done it if it were anyone else too.”

“No! No, because I wouldn’t have gone to bed with anyone else.” Aziraphale froze. Well, that came out wrong. “You’re special to me, Crowley. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s voice grew soft. “Oh.” 

“Crowley, I-“

He was cut off by a knock on the door. Crowley groaned, shoving his face into a pillow. 

“One moment!” Aziraphale yelled out. He clambered over Crowley and up to the door. When he opened it, he was greeted by Debbie, who looked like she hadn’t slept at all. 

“Sorry to wake you up, Mr. Fell.” Said Debbie. “But I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

“Give me and my partner one minute to get ready, and we’ll see what we can do. Just hold on for a moment, alright?”

Aziraphale closed the door and sighed. “This isn’t quite what I expected to happen on this trip.” 

Crowley propped himself up on his elbow. “So that’s what we’re calling each other now? Partners?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale miracled out of his pajamas and into his regular outfit. “Come on, dear, we shouldn’t keep her waiting.” 

Crowley groaned as he rolled out of bed and into his clothes. “I’m a snake. It’s too cold for me.” 

“Well, if we’re lucky, this will all be over soon. Then you can go back to bed.” 

“Fi-ine.” 

They headed into the hall, where Debbie was waiting. Upon further inspection, Aziraphale noticed that her eyes were red from crying. 

“Debbie, have you had breakfast?” Aziraphale asked. 

She shook her head. 

“Right. Let’s get you some breakfast, then.” 

They headed into the dining car. Debbie and Aziraphale ordered breakfast, while Crowley pulled out the notebook detailing the facts about the case. 

“So. Debbie. We’ve been doing some research.” Crowley said. “Your grandfather’s quite rich.”

“Yeah, he is. It’s because he invented some form of manufacturing for auto parts.” 

“And you’ve got a lot of family members who want that money.”

“Yeah. He had four kids and ten grandkids. Do you think one of them could have done this? I haven’t seen them on the train.”

“Not directly.” Aziraphale said. “But we think one of them might’ve hired a hitman.”

“Which means there’s a murderer on this train none of us will recognize.” Crowley added unhelpfully. 

“Now, you said you thought someone was trying to kill you. Did something happen?”

Debbie nodded. “When I was in bed, the door kept shaking, like someone was trying to get in. And I could see someone’s shadow under the door.” She started to cry again. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.” 

“It’s alright. We’ll get this sorted out.” 

“We should go talk to the conductor, or whoever it is has access to the cameras.” Crowley said. 

“Right. Oh, but breakfast hasn’t come yet.” 

“You can have breakfast after.” Crowley stood. “Come on, angel.”

“Debbie, stay here. There’s a lot of people around. You should be safe.” 

Debbie nodded. “Thank you.”

“And put breakfast on my tab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna be real with all of you i have no idea how long this is gonna be because I'm still in the process of writing it but regardless of how long it takes I am going to finish it. don't worry. might take a while, but it'll happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to change who the killer is from my original intentions because I thought it sounded better. However, that does not impact any of these chapters. It just impacts my chaotic writing process.

“What do you mean, you want to see the cameras?” One of the conductors asked defensively. “The police are going to handle it.”

“And who knows how long that’ll be? The train’s stopped. And we can’t have another murder.” Crowley snarled. “So just show us where the videos are, and we’ll let you be on your way.”

“Ok! Ok! Sheesh! We keep the footage in with the computer equipment. Who the hell are you guys, anyway?”

“We are…” 

“Private detectives.” Aziraphale interjected. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind showing us where the computer equipment is, that would be lovely.”

Seemingly against his own will, the conductor led them down the train to a car labeled “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” It was filled with a variety of different computer equipment, and a whole corner was dedicated to security cameras. The conductor sat down and pulled up the backlog of footage from the night before. Fortunately, there was footage of the car in which the murder took place. Unfortunately, the murderer was only seen from behind, before the feed cut out. 

“Is there another angle?” Crowley asked, leaning towards the computer.

“No, we’ve only got the one camera in there. It’s all up to regulation, I assure you.” The conductor said in a daze. 

“Right. Well, it looks like a man. Or a woman with short hair.” Aziraphale said. 

“Doesn’t narrow it down much.” Crowley rewound the footage, watching it again. “Dark hair, maybe. Means you’re no longer a suspect.” He elbowed Aziraphale playfully. 

“But you’re still in contention.” 

“Nah. They’re heavier than I am. Can you make a copy of this?” 

The conductor nodded, and quickly burned a DVD with the footage on it. 

“Now, Mr. Conductor, when do you think the train is going to start again?”

“I’m not sure.” The conductor shrugged. “It just doesn’t seem to be working. We’ve got our best engineers on it.” 

“Something tells me these engineers aren’t going to fix the problem.” Crowley whispered to Aziraphale. 

“Thanks for your assistance.” Aziraphale said to the conductor. 

They headed back into one of the seating cars. Once again, they sat across from each other. 

“We need to start questioning people.” Crowley said. “Find people with short dark hair who were up at some god-awful hour last night.”

“Well, if they were up late last night, they’ll probably be up late again tonight. We can keep an eye on whoever looks sketchy.” 

“Good idea. What do we do in the meantime?”

“Not a clue. Riding on a train isn’t quite as much fun when the train isn’t moving.” 

Crowley did have some ideas on how to kill time, but they weren’t exactly fit to be done mid-day on a train. “Could investigate what might be wrong with the train. Even though I’ve no idea how trains work.”

“Neither do I. But I’m beginning to wonder if it could be caused by some kind of divine influence. The problem is, I can’t see why the almighty would care about us solving a murder on a train.”

“Maybe the murder victim was important. Maybe Debbie’s important. Maybe it’s an elaborate plot to get us to fall in love.” If that was it, well, mission accomplished. “Who knows.” 

“Er. Yes, quite.” Aziraphale quickly changed the subject. “I think we should question the bartender first. He seems agreeable enough.” 

“And people will tell bartenders anything. If we’re lucky, someone’s already confessed to the murder.”

The bartender was currently arguing with an elderly woman who claimed he had overcharged her. She had short dark hair, and carried a cane with an ornate gold eagle on the top.

“I’m telling you, on the menu it was $5.25!” She yelled. “Who’s your manager?”

“Ma’am, I am the manager.” The bartender said with a sigh. “And I’m telling you, it’s $5.75.”

Crowley leaned over to Aziraphale and whispered, “My money’s on her.”

“I don’t think so. She might be irritable, but I can’t sense anything truly malicious coming from her.” Aziraphale whispered back. “I could be wrong.” 

“Neither can I, but she seems the type. Maybe she’s killed someone else.”

“I certainly hope not, I don’t want to have to solve two murders at once.” 

Finally, the woman left, huffing as she pushed past the duo. On the way, she slammed Crowley in the leg with her cane, and he momentarily contemplated wishing her out of existence. Unfortunately, that probably would not have rolled over well. 

“She seemed like a delight.” Crowley said as he pulled up a chair at the bar. 

The bartender scoffed. “Every single day she orders the same thing, and every single day she says I overcharge her. I can’t stand people like that.” He picked up a glass and began to wipe it out. “So, what can I do for you two?”

“Last night, at around the time of the murder, did you see anyone with short dark hair looking suspicious?” Aziraphale asked. 

“No one suspicious, but I did see some people with short dark hair.”

“Right, who were they?” Crowley pulled out his notepad.

“Well, there was you,” The bartender motioned to Crowley, “that old woman, her name’s Mary I think. Then there was Baxter, who I’m pretty sure is depressed, and Stan. Stan always looks kind of sketchy, so you’ll probably wanna check him out. Oh, and there was Francis. He’s kind of a dick. Don’t know if that makes him a murderer, though.” 

“Excellent. That’s just what we needed.” 

“Are you guys thinking of solving this thing?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Ideally. We don’t know how long the train is going to be stopped, so it’ll take the police some time to get here. We figured we would try our hand at solving it.”

“So you two know each other, then.” The bartender turned to Crowley. “This the friend you were talking about?”

“Uh, yeah.” Crowley really, really hoped that the bartender wouldn’t spill anything too confidential. 

“Your friend’s told me a lot about you.” The bartender said to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looked flattered. “Only good things, I hope?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” The bartender winked at Crowley, and he died a little inside. “Listen, if you guys need any help with the case, I’d be glad to lend a hand.”

“If you could keep an eye out for the people you mentioned, that would be great.”

“Sure thing.” He said with a nod. “Name’s Elias, by the way. Figure you should probably know.”

“I’m Mr. Crowley. This is Mr. Fell.” Crowley shook the bartender’s hand. “Pleasure to work with you.”

\------

“I don’t trust him.” Aziraphale said, as he sat across from Crowley in the library car. 

“Why not? He seems nice enough.”

“Just something he gives off. Something negative.”

“Bad vibes?”

“Something like that.” He glanced at an old woman who scowled at them, and he lowered his voice. “And what was that about, you telling the bartender about me?”

“Last night, before the murder, I’d been doing some drinking. And… I was thinking about you.”

“Oh. Well, I…” Aziraphale paused. The weight of what that probably meant sank in. “Oh.”

“I’m usually not a sappy drunk. Must be something about trains that makes people sentimental.” That was a lie. Crowley was always a sappy drunk. 

“That must be it.” Aziraphale gazed at Crowley. The demon was doing his best to avoid eye contact, until Aziraphale muttered, “Crowley.”

“Aziraphale. We’ve been such fools.” 

“We’re all fools in love.” Aziraphale grinned shyly. “At least according to Jane Austen.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand. “Angel, I’ve been waiting six thousand years to hear-”

He was cut off by the sound of screaming. 

“Oh, for the love of… what is it this time?” 

Over the intercom, a voice said, “Would a Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley please make their way to sleeping car #3.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that’s us. We should go.”

“I assume this isn’t the end of this conversation?”

“You would assume correctly.” 

In sleeping car #3, Debbie was once again sobbing. There was a bullet hole in the dark wood of the wall, and a train attendant standing beside her. 

“Are you two Fell and Crowley?” The attendant asked. 

Crowley nodded. “That’d be us.”

“Good. She said she won’t talk to anyone else.” The attendant sounded irritated. Crowley waved a finger, and she walked off into another car. 

“You could’ve just asked her to leave.” Aziraphale muttered.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Crowley ran a hand over the bullet hole. “Blimey. What happened this time?”

“I don’t know.” Debbie said. “I was coming out of my room, and all of a sudden I heard a shot. Please, you two have to help me. You’re the only people on this train I can trust.”

Aziraphale pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Debbie. “Buck up, my child. We have a couple of leads we’re following up on.”

Well, it wasn’t entirely a lie, Crowley noted. “Right. Just lay low, don’t let anyone know where you are, and we’ll figure it out.”

“But, how can I do that?” Debbie patted at her eyes. “Everyone already knows I’m the granddaughter of the dead guy, and the train is still stuck.” 

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. This was something that required more than just regular human intervention. It needed a miracle. Crowley gave him a subtle nod of approval, and with a slight wave of his hand, Aziraphale made it so that Debbie would be unrecognizable to everybody except the two of them. “You needn’t worry. We have it all under control.” As Debbie retreated back into her room, Aziraphale asked, “Do we have it under control?”

“Nah. But we’ll figure it out.”

“That’s not quite reassuring.”

Crowley hooked his arm around Aziraphale’s. “You asked me to be honest, not reassuring.”

Aziraphale looked at their entwined arms and smiled. It was nice, to be able to do that without worrying he was overstepping any boundaries. “I suppose I did. But we have to figure this out, Crowley. We can’t keep this poor girl in fear for her life, even if we know nothing’s going to happen to her.” 

“We already have that list of people the bartender gave us. Can start there.”

“Where would these people be? There’s, what, 15 cars on this train?”

“But only one dining car. And everybody has to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one's not as long ive got plans tho I know what's happening. at least i know what's happening with this, unlike everything else in my life.

**Author's Note:**

> this work was inspired by leslie knope saying her dream is to one day solve a murder on a train. I am not kidding.   
> Any johnny cash songs are used purely for dramatic effect and have no affect on the plot. I just like johnny cash.


End file.
